


Help

by Doteruna



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9187793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doteruna/pseuds/Doteruna
Summary: James Barnes, an Afghanistan vet with only one flesh arm and a whole bunch of issues, ends up adopting a nine-year old girl, meets his future husband, and somehow creates a family.Sam laughs at him.Tags will be added as I go





	1. Chapter 1: The Accident

“He needs help,” Sharon says to Sam as they watch Bucky walk out of the VA, holding the door open for another vet coming in. Sam hums, taking another sip of his coffee.

“I don’t think he needs help. I think he needs someone to help,” he muses. Sharon raises an eyebrow, and Sam shrugs. 

 

James Buchanan Barnes huddled deeper into his jacket as he walked down the sidewalk towards his apartment. His left arm felt new, heavier than the last one as he moved, the newest Stark tech packed with more stuff but also a little more weight. He’d just had it installed a few days ago, and Tony had given him a half-week off to recover from the shock of hooking a machine into his nerves for the third time. Stark had been a literal life-saver once Bucky came from from overseas; hooking him up with some state-of-the-art technology to replace the arm he lost and, once he realized Bucky had a degree in software programming and quite a bit of actual combat experience, he offered the vet a job at Stark Industries which Bucky gratefully took. 

Now, Bucky was having weekly meetings at the VA with Stark’s friend Sam and spending his time working, exercising, and bumming around in his apartment. It had been well over a year since his honorable discharge, but he still suffered from some pretty severe PTSD sometimes, and the last several days he’d been plagued by nightmares and had a hard time in crowded places. Today was better, especially after talking to Sharon a bit and then sitting quietly during the group meeting. He was on his way to his apartment, about a twenty minute walk, and the people crowding the sidewalks didn’t bother him as much as they had on the way to the VA. His right hand fiddled with a stray string inside his hoodie jacket as he walked, then stopped at an intersection and waited for the lights to change. 

He glanced around at the other people waiting to cross the street. A group of teenage girls chattering with cell phones and shopping bags clutched in brightly-colored nails, a couple of mothers with strollers and burbling infants, a jogger or two. The day was sunny and reasonably warm, and Bucky realizes he’s glad that he got out of the apartment today. Staying inside with his nightmares and his PTSD wasn’t helping anything.

The signal to walk across the street blinks on, but the gaggle of girls are distracted and blocking the lane for a few seconds, so the people on the other side coming towards them begin to walk. The woman in front is holding her daughter’s hand, a young girl of around 10 who is smiling brightly and skipping. The teenagers look up from their phones and start to move, and then everything happens very fast.

An SUV comes screeching through the intersection, clearly ignoring the red lights and not slowing down at all. The mother’s eyes widen and she shoves her daughter with all her might, and Bucky watches as if the scene was in slow-motion. The girl hits the pavement and the tires of the car miss her by inches, but the mother disappears underneath the rubber and metal with a truly terrifying shriek. The SUV doesn’t stop or anything, just keeps driving until it squeals around the corner and out of sight. 

Before he realizes it, Bucky is shoving teenagers out of the way and sprinting across the street. He skids to his knees next to the body of the mother, who is splayed out on the concrete, covered in blood and chest heaving. He is operating only on instinct as he whips off his hoodie and presses it to the gushing blood and the snapped rib sticking out of her side, quickly assessing the rest of her body. 

“Call 911!” he yells as the other people on the street start to move. Several of them try to move closer but are clearly afraid to see the gore. Bucky glances up from the mangled mess of the mother’s legs to see bystanders in a ring around him and yells again. “Get an ambulance!”

A teenager drops her shopping bags and immediately puts her phone up to her ear, speaking frantically and looking around at the street signs to tell the dispatcher where they are. Bucky’s ears are filled with static and each time he moves, his scraped knees splash into a small puddle of the woman’s blood. It’s hot, and of course he’s reminded of the last time he was covered in blood. This time, however, it isn’t his own, and he knows his hair is falling out of it’s bun as he leans closer to the woman’s face. 

“Can you hear me? Are you awake?” He’s not yelling, but his voice is loud and firm. The woman is awake, but just barely--she’s gasping and choking on blood and obviously in incredible pain as Bucky tears off his belt and wraps it around her thigh, where there’s a huge amount of blood draining onto the asphalt. The woman’s eyes are rolling and her arm keeps twitching, as if she’s trying to move it. “Stop moving. There’s an ambulance on the way, I need you to stay awake, okay? I’m trying to stop the bleeding from your leg and your torso.” His voice is shaky, he knows it, but he swallows down the panic attack that’s hovering by his head. He can’t deal with that right now. She’s fading fast, choking on her own blood as it spills down her chin and Bucky knows that he can’t save her, just like he knew he couldn’t save Dum Dum, but he’d tried then too and his friend’s hot blood was all over his hands and his face and there were bits of flesh scattered across the interior of their sniper’s nest and he could only hear the ringing sound of an explosion--

Bucky came back to himself with a gasp as the mother coughs one last time and stills. There’s sirens quickly approaching, but he starts compressions anyway, hearing the crunch of bone underneath his palms as the woman’s body shakes in time with his movements. He’s still performing them when a paramedic drops down on the other side of the woman, pushing his hands away and there’s another at his shoulder, pulling him away from the mother. His ears are still full of static and he lets himself be pushed back, falling on his ass a yard from the body and rocking as the second EMT goes to help the first. There’s black creeping around the edges of his vision and he swallows hard, eyes on the woman’s hand that she had tried to move. 

Suddenly, he remembers the daughter, and he whips around. The teenager that had called the ambulance was on her knees a few yards away, holding the young girl tightly in her arms. The teen is crying, but the girl is wailing, struggling to get free from the arms trapping her. She wriggles and twists hard enough that she breaks free just as the paramedics are loading the woman onto a stretcher and pushing it into the ambulance. Bucky lunges forward and throws his arm out to stop her, and the girl freezes when she sees the sun gleam off the shiny metal. She’s small, with skinny limbs and dark brown hair and wide eyes, and she stares at Bucky for only a second before she pushes past him and throws herself at the ambulance. The paramedics figure out that her mother is their patient and scoop her up, and then the ambulance doors are shutting and the sirens are sounding again. There are cops arriving, but Bucky can’t concentrate on them because there is another hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on, son, I’ll take you to the hospital,” the man says.


	2. Chapter Two: Beverley

“Come on, son, I’ll take you to the hospital,” the man says. He’s an older police officer with plenty of wrinkles and blue eyes, but his voice is firm and he helps Bucky up and into the patrol car. Everything happens very fast again, and the only thing that Bucky remembers is that the cop was named Chester Phillips. He’s now sitting in a hard plastic chair in the waiting room to the operating room, where Phillips deposited him, asked him a few questions about the accident, and told him to wait. He’s still covered in the woman’s blood, he has no idea where the little girl went, and his knees smart because he stripped the skin from them when he slid next to the woman’s body. He knows that it’s been about an hour, he’s thirsty, the blood that’s drying on his arms is itching, and his head is pounding. He wants Sam or Sharon or anyone because if he has to keep sitting here waiting for the news he already knows is coming he’s going to spiral into a very big panic attack. 

He hears a door open and he doesn’t look up because he knows the woman is dead. 

However, it isn’t the surgeon that speaks. It’s the daughter. 

“Mister?”

Bucky does look up this time, and he sees the little girl standing a few feet away from him, a nurse behind her. She’s got a band-aid on her elbow from where she scraped it when her mother pushed her out of the way; there are dried tear tracks on her cheeks and her floral-print dress is ripped in a few places, but she isn’t seriously hurt at all and Bucky feels relieved. And then he feels confused, because why is he even here? Why is she talking to him? He’s the guy that let her mom die. He’s covered in her mom’s blood, for christ’s sake, and she’s trying to talk to him?

“Mister?” she tries again, and this time he’s able to answer.

“Yeah?” he says hoarsely. She swallows. 

“Do you know where my mom is?” she asks, and Bucky can’t stop himself from looking at the OR doors. The girl looks over at them too. “She’s in there?”

“The doctors are with her right now,” he tells her before looking up at the nurse. She’s obviously used to working with kids because her scrubs are covered in teddy bears and she’s got a very comforting smile on her face, despite the situation. “I don’t know when they’ll be out.”

Of course, that’s when the OR doors open and the head surgeon steps out. He looks at the girl and then at Bucky, and apparently he assumes that Bucky is the father. 

“I’m so sorry, but we weren’t able to save her,” he says, and the little girl begins to cry. Before the nurse can move, she’s barreled into Bucky’s lap and thrown her arms around his neck. Bucky finds himself with a lapful of wailing girl and a very awkward looking nurse hovering nearby, and the doctor looks remorseful. “If you’d like to see your wife--”

“I’m not,” Bucky interrupts. “I’m not her...I’m just a guy that was crossing the street when she was hit. A cop brought me here.”

“Oh,” and now the doctor looks as awkward as the nurse. “My apologies. I’m assuming that’s your jacket and belt we have then?” Bucky nods. “We can dispose of them for you if you’d like. We cut the belt and the jacket is...well…”

 

“It’s fine,” Bucky answers. The girl is still in his lap, crying into his shoulder, and he sort of hugs her, sort of just rests his hand on her back and rubs slow circles. She seems to take comfort in this, and the nurse stops looking like she’s going to steal her out of Bucky’s arms. 

“We were able to identify the mother,” the nurse says quietly to Bucky. “Anna Morgans. Single mother, father was never in the picture. Only relatives are her parents, who are both in a senior care center and aren’t capable of taking care of a child.” 

“What’s going to happen to her?” Bucky asks. “Wait, what’s her name?”

“Beverley,” the nurse answers. “I’ve got a CPS rep on the way right now. They’ll take her to a foster home and hopefully, she’ll find someone willing to adopt her.” 

Bucky nods and looks down at the girl in his arms. Beverley is calming down, sniffling while she sits in his lap. He still has his arms around her, and he’s at least relieved that she doesn’t shy away from his prosthetic arm. She’s cuddled up to his left shoulder, after all, and the metal extends to almost his collarbone. Her wails have turned into soft sniffles and she looks ready to fall asleep, but every time her eyes droop she starts crying herself awake again. The doctor fidgets nervously and excuses himself. 

“Okay, honey, we have to go now,” the nurse says, reaching for the girl. “We need to go meet the nice lady who’s going to take care of you from now on.”

“No!” Beverley screeches, and her slim arms wrap tightly around Bucky’s neck. “I’m staying with him!” Her grip is strong enough to make Bucky’s breath a little strained, and he makes a little gasping noise and the girl immediately moves her hands from his neck to his waist, latching on like a leech. 

“Beverley--I’m so sorry, sir, you know what she’s been through--”

“Yeah, I do,” he interrupts her, looking down at the dried blood still staining his skin. She follows his gaze and then starts. 

“We have showers and spare scrubs, if want,” she offers. 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” Bucky agrees. “Just some clean pants.”

“Mister?” Beverley butts in, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Can I stay with you? Please?”

“Why would you want to stay with me?” Bucky asks, and he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t ask the traumatized tiny human such a blunt question but it’s too late now. He’s not good with this sort of thing.

“You tried to help,” Beverley surprises him. “No one else did anything until you told them to. So you’re a good person and I want to stay with you.” She sniffs again and looks up at him with huge, teary eyes. “Please don’t make me go with a stranger, mister.”

“Bucky,” he says, because he’s a giant sap. “My name’s Bucky.” He looks back up at the nurse. “Is there somewhere she can hang while I shower and then we can talk to the CPS rep?”

“Yes, of course,” the nurse nods. “Okay Beverley honey, did you hear that? Bucky needs to shower and then we can all talk together, is that alright?”

“You’re not leaving?” the girl asks suspiciously, staring hard at him, and Bucky shakes his head. 

“I just need to get clean, kid.” 

 

 

The nurse had switched places with the CPS rep when Bucky comes out of the staff showers and locker rooms, freshly washed and dressed in the same T-shirt but wearing a pair of dark blue scrubs on his legs. The blood-soaked jeans he’d worn that morning were being disposed of by the hospital staff. 

Beverley is ignoring the older woman sitting next to her, choosing to stare down the hallway in the opposite direction. She’s crying again, but silently, tears just sliding down her face and dripping onto her knees where she has them pulled up to her chin. Her light mocha skin catches the sunlight filtering in through the window, and when Bucky comes nearer the shadow he casts notifies her of his presence. 

“Bucky!” she sniffles, hopping off the chair to meet him. She winds her fingers into Bucky’s shirt hem and points at the CPS rep. “She tried to make me leave.”

“She’s just doing her job, kiddo,” Bucky tells her. Beverley’s clear attachment to him still doesn’t make sense in his mind; she should be running from him, not to him, he thinks, but then again her mom did die only a few hours previously. She’s a little shaken. 

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” the rep greets him with a smile. She holds out a hand for him to shake, and he takes it. “Let me just say, I heard about what happened this morning. Thank you for your actions and care.” Bucky can’t really say anything to that, so he just nods. “There’s an empty office I’ve been shown where we can discuss things. Since Beverley has no one to care for her, I would usually just take her with me to the foster home, but she expressed a desire to see you before we left.” 

Once in the empty office, the rep pulls out a folder from her briefcase and lays it on the table.

“This is the children’s home we will be taking her to, and where she will stay until she’s fostered or adopted.” She eyes Beverley’s hand where it’s still tangled in Bucky’s shirt, even though she’s sitting in the chair next to the man. “It seems she’s become attached to you, Mr. Barnes. If you like, you can always come visit her at the children’s home.”

And isn’t that a shock. Bucky hadn’t even considered that; he just assumed that Beverley would be swept away by social workers and he’d never see her again. If he was to be honest, he had no idea what he liked at the moment. Did he want to see Beverley again? Would she want to see him? It’s not like he saved her or anything, his focus had been on the mother until the end of the incident. Wouldn’t she be scared of him? Should he leave?

He glances at the door, and the rep catches it. 

“Mr. Barnes, if you want to leave, you’re not obligated to stay. You have no real ties to Beverley besides the incident this morning; the police already have their reports, so you’re free to go if you like. I just assumed that you’d want to know what was happening with Beverley.” The rep’s voice is not unkind, and Bucky realizes that he could just leave. He has nothing keeping here. Except…

He looks down at the hazel eyes that are trained on him. Beverley has stopped crying again, and it’s clear that she understands everything going on around her. Her fingers slowly let go of his shirt and she sits on her hands, as if to keep them from moving again. 

“Bucky,” she says, looking down at the flowers on her dress. “Thank you for trying to save my mommy. You don’t have to take care of me. I’m a big girl.”

A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back with his left arm, wishing he knew where his hair-tie went. Beverley watches his arm move silently, eyes trained on the metal, before she opens her mouth. 

“How did you get that?” 

Bucky freezes. How the hell does he explain that his arm was blown away and his shoulder was crushed under a Hummer for four hours in Afghanistan?

“Sweetheart, that’s a very personal question…” the CPS rep begins, and Bucky makes a decision.

“I was in a car accident,” he tells her. Something in her eyes changes. 

“Like Mom?” she whispers, and she curls her slim fingers around Bucky’s metal ones. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, just as quietly. “Like your mom.”

“Oh,” she mumbles. The CPS rep just watches them, a small smile on her face. 

“Mr. Barnes, could I speak to you outside for just a moment?” she asks, and Bucky nods. 

Once the door is shut behind them, Bucky peers through the open blinds to make sure Beverley isn’t crying or anything before giving the rep his attention. 

“She’s a strong young girl,” the woman begins. “I think that with the proper help, the foster system can find her a good home. She might be so attached to you because she connects you with safety; watching you help her mother has obviously put you in a good light in her eyes.”

“What about yours?” Bucky asks. He knows what she’s going to say. He’s a vet, clearly suffering from minor panic attacks, with only one biological arm and a bunch of scars, mental and physical. He only helped Beverley’s mother because his training kicked in, and he couldn’t just not help. 

“My eyes?” the woman says. “Mr. Barnes, in my eyes, you’d make a good older brother or father.” Bucky’s own eyes widen. “You’re a veteran, correct? I’ve met a lot of them. My younger brother was in the Air Force for several years, and my mother was Army. It’s hard to tell the good soldiers from the bad, but you definitely don’t seem like a bad person to me, and clearly not to Beverley either. If you wanted to spend time with Beverley, I would encourage it. She might need your help to get through this.” Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand. “However. This might be a phase. She could make a connection with you because you were the one who was there in a time of trauma; she might not feel so strongly towards you in a few days, weeks, or whenever. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” And he did. People bond during times of stress and hardship, and Bucky had been through plenty of those during his time overseas; people that he regarded as close friends had proven themselves to be different when he got back in touch months or years later. He didn’t want Beverley to become attached, decide she didn’t actually need him like she currently thought she did and leave; not because Beverley could be hurt, but because being turned down by the little girl could easily break Bucky’s already-fragile heart. His emotions were already so fucked up, he didn’t need another blow to his self-esteem. 

“That being said, it also wouldn’t be healthy for her to never see you again, as she’s formed a pretty strong bond with you. She was very reluctant when I suggested we leave before you finished showering.” 

“I just want her to be okay,” Bucky said. Even if it hurts me to never see her, he thinks, but doesn’t say. The rep nods. 

“Okay, we can arrange for you to visit on a set schedule,” she says. “Let’s head back in.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been three months, and no one wants to adopt Beverley. 

It isn’t her fault. It’s not. Ten years old is pretty old for adoption, and Beverley is a traumatized young girl who needs a lot of care and comfort, especially on bad days when something reminds her of who she’s lost. She’s very smart, and creative, and polite, but she has nightmares that keep the other girls up at night and she’s actually pretty bratty when someone who isn’t Bucky tries to spend a lot of time with her. 

That might be partly Bucky’s fault.

He stops by the girls’ home two or three times a week, because he has nothing better to do. His work schedule is very flexible and he’s got a lot of time to himself. Tony was pretty pissed that he’d gotten blood into the inner workings of his prosthetic arm, but was then very understanding when he was told how the blood got there, and then he donated ten thousand dollars to the adoption center running the girls’ home that Beverley was staying at. The girls weren’t hurting for anything, but the extra money was always needed and welcomed with open arms. Beverley was getting upset with every couple that came in to see her and left without another word. Of course, Bucky was there to cheer her up, and he could spend a few hours at the home with her and not even realize it. Drawing, reading, showing her how his prosthetic worked, helping her with homework (she was able to stay enrolled in the same public school she’d been attending before the accident) and other such things kept her entertained. 

After the second month, one of the volunteers at the home pulled him aside and asked him if he was planning to adopt Beverley. At the time, Bucky had been caught off-guard, as that hadn’t even crossed his mind. Now, though, the thought had been floating around constantly.

“Do you think I could be a parent?” he asks randomly one afternoon, while he’s helping Sharon and Sam put the chairs from the group meeting away at the VA. 

“Huh? Did you knock someone up?” Sam asks, and Sharon whacks his arm. “Just asking.”

“No, no. It’s just...Beverley.”

Realization dawns in their eyes, and Sharon smiles. She’d heard a lot about the little girl over the last few months. 

“She hasn’t been adopted yet, has she?” she asks, and Bucky shakes his head. “Are you thinking of doing it?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “One of the workers there asked me about it, and I couldn’t tell her. I feel awful that Bev can’t find a home, because she’s a great kid, and I really care about her but I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”

“Do you think that she’d be unsafe with you? Because of your PTSD?” Sam asks seriously. Bucky pauses.

“No, I don’t,” he says after a moment. “None of my flashbacks end up in violence, and my night terrors are becoming very rare.” 

“I know that,” Sam reminds him. “But do you think you’d be a good parent? Could you keep her safe, and happy? Provide for everything a growing girl needs?”

“I kept almost ten men alive in some of the worst situations in Afghanistan,” Bucky throws out. “I think I can handle a ten year old girl. Financially, Stark gives me more money than I know what to do with sometimes. I’ve got a two-bedroom apartment, a stable job, all the stuff other families have. I just need your guys’ opinions.”

“Well, Bucky, my only question is: do you want to adopt Beverley? Or do you just feel obligated because no one else will?”

This takes Bucky a little more than a moment. 

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Yeah, I do. She’s so smart, and nice, and she’s had shit hand dealt out to her right now. She doesn’t deserve to stay in a girls’ home or move from foster home to foster home until she ages out. I need to know that she’s okay, because I won’t be able to forget about her, and I don’t want to see her go to some other couple who’s shopping for a child like a Christmas present. At this point, even if someone else adopted her I would continue to see her.”

Sharon smiles. 

“I think she could be good for you,” she grins. “You’ve been doing incredibly, and it’s about time you had something to occupy your time, other than Stark and your free weights set.”

 

“Hey, Bev,” Bucky greets, and the girl looks up from where she’s helping another girl with homework. 

“Bucky!” she exclaims, hopping off her chair and running to hug him. He bends down to hug her back and then walks her back to the kitchen table, where there’s a small gaggle of girls ranging from seven to almost seventeen studying. “Look, I’m helping Rosa with her algebra!”

“I can see that,” Bucky nods. “You’re smart enough to do that?” At Beverley’s enthusiastic nod, he grins and ruffles his hand through her hair. It’s his left hand, and he doesn’t miss Rosa’s start when she sees it. She doesn’t say anything, though, so he doesn’t pay it any mind. “Hey, Bev, Ilene and I wanted to talk to you about something. Got a minute?”

“Sure,” Beverley says. “Good luck, Rosa.” She stands back up and takes Bucky’s hand as he leads her to the home’s office, where the woman who runs the home spends most of her time. Ilene is an old black lady, with long twists and gentle eyes, with an even gentler smile. She’s peering at a brand-new computer (courtesy of one Tony Stark) and pecking away at the keyboard when Bucky taps on the doorframe to let her know they’re there.

“Ah, Beverley! And Bucky, good to see you again. How are you doing today?”

“Just fine, Ilene, thanks,” Bucky replies. He scratches his neck and sits down in one of the two chairs in front of her desk, feeling like he’s been sent to the principal’s office. “I’ve, uh, never done this before, so maybe you could take the lead?” 

“Of course. Beverley, as you know, has been interviewed by several couples, but unfortunately none of them would be able to provide the type of home she needs. Luckily, Bucky, you’ve passed all of our tests with flying colors. Your home inspection to see if your living space is suitable for a child went just fine, and I received a glowing letter of recommendation from your VA counselor. Everything checks out.” 

Beverley, sitting in the chair next to Bucky, has gone very, very still. 

“Financially, you’re very stable, and your job is admirable. I think you could provide a very good home.”

Beverley turns in her seat to look at Bucky with wide hazel eyes. 

“What is she saying, Bucky?” she asks, and Bucky can’t help but hold his breath. 

“Would--would you like to come live with me, Bev?” he asks in a rush, and the girl shrieks and throws herself out of the chair and into his arms like some sort of giant spider-monkey. They’re both laughing and Ilene is smiling, and Bucky thinks that maybe, just maybe, this might be a good idea. 

 

All of Beverley’s things have been moved into his apartment two days later, and the volunteer from the home hands him Bev’s backpack with school supplies and takes off. The girl herself is exploring his apartment, respectful of his stuff, but he already told her that none of the rooms were off-limits so she’s peeking into every room. 

“This is my bedroom, and yours is right across the hall here,” Bucky shows her. His apartment isn’t big, per se, but it’s definitely not small and the whole building is owned by Stark, so it’s pretty nice. In fact, it’s mostly filled with Stark employees, not that Bucky talks to most of them. “I’m a light sleeper, so if you need anything, just knock on the door and come on in.” Note to self, start sleeping in pajama pants, not just boxers. “Cecilia told me you were still having nightmares. I get them too, remember?” Beverley nods, looking suddenly nervous. “Hey, it’s okay. If you ever have them, I’m gonna be right here.” She nods, and Bucky pulls her in for a short hug that she returns tightly. “Okay, let’s get your stuff unpacked.”

It takes about an hour, but eventually, they have everything that Beverley had at the girls’ home set up. Several sets of clothes, school things, a GI Joe bedspread (“Because he’s waaay cooler than My Little Pony, Bucky!”) and some miscellaneous things like a lamp, a rug, some toys, and a few coloring books were spread around the room. The rest of her things from her old house were in a storage unit paid for by Anna’s will, which dedicated everything to Bev once she turned 18. Bucky had asked her a few weeks into her stay at the girls’ home if she wanted anything else from it, but the girl had refused, not wanting too many things that reminded her of her mother.

Bev’s integration into Bucky’s life went a lot smoother than he thought. Since moving in three days ago, she’d only had one nightmare, and she didn’t even have to wake Bucky up to talk about it. She woke up easily for school and actually enjoyed it, thank fuck, because Bucky would not be able to handle a cranky morning child, especially since he could be a cranky morning manchild until he had his coffee. He would walk her to school and then walk the three blocks over to Stark Tower, where he’d log in several hours of work and be done in time to walk Beverley home. The first day he went to pick her up, the teacher had been confused and almost didn’t hand her off; since Bucky was white and Beverley was clearly half-caucasian, half-something dark (Anna never had a paternity test done, apparently) she didn’t look a whole lot like him and Beverley herself had to explain that Bucky was her legal guardian. 

That was the only mishap, and Beverley held Bucky’s fingers tight as they walked/skipped home on Wednesday. She chattered excitedly about the artwork she’d done in class and how cool it was that the science teacher had a snake the kids could pet. 

“Hey, Bev,” Bucky says in the two-second long space when she drew breath to launch into her next spiel. “There’s a meeting I have to go to tonight. It’s only an hour long, but I have to go. My friend Clint said he could watch a movie with you, if that’s okay.”

Not the best way to tell Bev she’d have a babysitter tonight, but what the hell, Bucky was new at this. 

“What’s Clint like?” she asked, unphased. 

“Um. Kinda short, blonde, he’s deaf so he has a dog--”

“A dog?!”

Aw, crap. Kids love dogs. 

“Yup. Since he’s deaf, it means his ears don’t work right and he wears little machines in them to help him hear. His dog, Lucky, helps him around.”

“Oh,” Bev nods. “Mommy’s friend Miss Yui can’t see, so she has a dog that leads her around and wears a cool vest. Like that?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Bucky says, relieved. “Lucky’s real friendly. If it’s okay for Clint to watch you while I’m gone, can he bring Lucky?”

“Can he please? I love doggies!”

Well, that settles that.

Clint comes by two hours later, and since he only lives two apartments down, it’s not a long commute. He works with Stark Industries’ disabilities branch, developing and testing better hearing aids. Technically, that’s where Bucky works too, because of his arm, but he ends up in Tony’s laboratory designing cool and random things more often than not. Clint has a floppy yellow Lab walking next to him, and once Bucky opens the door the dog pounces on him, trying to lick every inch of skin exposed. Beverley comes skidding around the corner when she hears the little ‘oof’ Bucky makes, and she and the dog end up rolling around on the floor, giggling like mad. 

“Hey, man,” Clint greets as he watches with a fond eye. “Take all the time you need, I brought a shit ton of Disney movies. Tell Sam I say hi.”

“I will. Thanks for this, Clint,” Bucky replies, and then gets Bev’s attention.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two, okay, kid?” he tells her, and she dutifully holds her arms open for a hug. “Be good for Clint.”


End file.
